


runs in the family

by ellies_guitar



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Kinda, Mental Health Issues, Redemption, im also surprised iroh isnt in this but that's just how it ended up, like... the possibility of redemption, most of the gaang appears but i haven't decided in what capacity, so for now they aren't tagged, we are suki stans first and people second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24815494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellies_guitar/pseuds/ellies_guitar
Summary: azula is not their father. it is both that simple, and that complicated.or: an exploration of zuko's feelings for azula, the damage done to her, and the damage she's done to him in the years after the war.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51





	1. prologue

The first time Zuko visits his sister she spits on him. Azula throws everything she can at him - fire, saliva,  _ words _ \- as sharp and angry as she has ever been. It makes his heart jump in his chest, fear crawling up his back insisting he turns and  _ leaves leaves leaves  _ but he doesn't. She is his sister, Zuko tells himself, she deserves a chance. Determined ( _ resigned _ he thinks later) Zuko stays and tries to calm her; he speaks softly when she yells, reaches for her as she shudders and shakes, ignores the itch of fresh burns on his arms and the twinge in his chest from old wounds. 

But Azula will have none of it, and eventually he leaves - failure weighing heavy on his heart, his ears ringing with her insults. 

This is how his visits go for months.

  
  


Zuko is halfway to Azula's cell when a hand grabs his. He jumps, spins around, hand already reaching for the swords he's not carrying before he notices who it is. 

"Suki," he forces himself to relax at the familiar face; stubbornly ignoring how the fear gripping his insides does not abate. It draws back, simmering, a low heat that grows with every step towards his sister's cell. The warrior stands a few feet away, unphased by his reaction, how he ripped his hand from hers. Her calm only unsettles him further. 

"What are you doing here?" The words bite out of his mouth - harsher than he means them to be - but Suki simply raises an eyebrow. 

"I could ask you the same thing." Her voice is not accusing, with no hint of judgement or malice, but he looks away all the same. 

"You  _ know _ why I'm here." 

Zuko halfway expects her to yell (though Suki has never raised her voice at him) or laugh (though he hears it in Azula's voice when it roars in his head) but instead there is a long, sad sigh. It's almost worse. 

He is vaguely aware of Suki moving forward; her heels clapping softly against the floor as she approaches. By the length of time it takes - the amount of times he forces himself to  _ breath _ \- it's obvious how slowly she's walking towards him. Zuko bristles instinctively at the thought that she sees fit to treat him like a skittish animal; tries to open his mouth to respond, or yell, or  _ stop her _ , or do something when her footsteps stop. A hand lands on his shoulder, gentle despite its armor.

He flinches, imagining sharp nails and sharper heat, but the hand doesn't move, and the sensation fades. It is just Suki. Her hand is not sharp, it is weighty and wide with the padding of her gloves; and it is not warm, the metal that guards her fingers is still cool from the night air. There is relief, and then shame. Zuko knows it’s Suki,  _ why _ does he keep having to remind himself of that? And if she  _ was _ Azula then  _ why _ \- he pushes the thought aside. It’s his sister. It doesn’t matter if he’s afraid of her, she is his sister and he owes her this. His visits, his time, his  _ fears _ . Doesn’t he?

“Zuko, you don’t have to keep doing this.”

Suki’s tone is gentle, but her words rip something from inside him and he recoils, back hitting the wall. His eyes go wild, vision swimming, heartbeat hammering, until his gaze lands on her. She is still calm, hand still outstretched, but - her brow is furrowed, her eyes heavy with… sadness?  _ pity _ ? Anger crystalizes inside him, hot and hard and familiar. 

“She is my  _ sister _ !” He hisses, hands forming fists, clenching. Down the hall, a torch flares, flickers. Suki, to his fury, remains unmoved and calm. 

“Yes, she is, and she almost killed you.” 

“She is - “

“Your sister. And Oazi is your father, do you pay him these visits as well?” He falters, stomach swooping low at her suggestion. His anger fizzles inside him, drying up and turning to smoke. He has not visited his father since the day he asked about his mother, and never plans to again. His father is a horrible, hopeless man and if Zuko has his way the next time he’ll see Oazi will be when he’s burning on a pyre. Azula though...

“Azula… Azula is not our father.” He knows there is not much strength in his words but he means them. He remembers when she was small - when she showed him the first flame she conjured with a bright, excited smile, when they would both sit tucked into their mother’s sides and listen to her stories. The memories are buried, dark and hazy and overrun by the image of her calculating gaze and the sickly blue of her fire, but they are  _ there _ . He has no such memories of his father. Only the impression of a hand on his shoulder, just warm enough to hurt.

“Maybe not,” Suki doesn’t sound convinced but before he can open his mouth to argue she continues. “But she was cruel to you just as he was; and  _ if _ she deserves a chance you don’t have to be the one to give it to her.”

He doesn’t know about that, doesn’t know how to think about the first part of her statement without falling apart so he focuses on the second. Lets the familiarity, the afterburn of guilt and hate guide him.

“You gave me a chance. I burned down your village, I hunted your friends. I was cruel to  _ you _ and you still gave  _ me _ a chance, shouldn’t Azula get one too?” Zuko manages to keep his voice even, if low, and feels a spark of pride at the silence after his statement. Suki tilts her head, considering. 

“You did burn my village,” She begins, voice growing stronger and more sure with each word. “And after the war you returned to personally apologize, you brought supplies, and helped us rebuild. You freed the other Kiyoshi Warriors from prison and helped them heal. You offered us a place at your side, a purpose, and treated us with the respect of equals. You did hunt my friends. And then you earned their trust - you helped Aang learn to not be afraid of himself, you helped Katara mourn her mother, you helped Sokka find his confidence again, you helped us _stop the_ _war_.”

Zuko can feel himself blushing, and is about to open his mouth to beg her to stop when she shakes her head, stepping forward. She does not touch him this time, but her gaze roots him to the spot, eyes no longer sad but confident, determined. 

“You were cruel, you were wrong, and you  _ realized _ that. You, Zuko, realized your own mistakes and worked to change yourself and make up for them. You - not your uncle, not Aang,  _ you _ . No one else could have done that; it was your heart, your mind, your life and  _ you _ took the steps to change it. That is why we, why  _ I _ gave you a chance - because you proved to me that you had put the effort into yourself to be better; you did not expect me to do the impossible and hand it to you. And until Azula realizes that she needs to put in that work too you cannot help her, and she will just keep hurting you.”

Zuko blinks, slowly, and it feels like the only movement he could possibly make. There’s no echo in the hall but he feels Suki’s words radiating down into him all the same; hollowing him out, turning his limbs to lead and his thoughts to mud. For once there is no argument in his head, no counterpoint on his tongue, only a bone deep tiredness that leaves him aching. He still wants to help, to see his sister smile like she does in those memories he keeps tucked close to his heart - but the thought of going to her cell now, of seeing her  _ now _ , almost sends him to his knees.

Azula has been on her own so long, relying on others' fear to chase away her own. He had thought he could show her love, that he loved her, that he was still her  _ brother _ . But scraped empty in this hallway the only thing he feels at the thought of his sister is a pang of fear, hope dulled and hidden somewhere he can’t reach. He’s scared  _ of  _ her, scared  _ for _ her, and he can’t help her like this. This isn’t what she needs and this… this isn’t what he needs either. 

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Suki’s hand reaches out to steady him; her expression and grip gentle. Zuko doesn’t have it in him to return her approximation of a smile. 

“Come on,” she prods, voice barely more than a whisper, “let’s get you back home.” 

Zuko nods, letting her pull him from the wall and lead him out of the hospital. They are silent on the way back to the palace, but Suki keeps her arm wrapped around his; and she doesn’t complain the three times he stops, halfway to turning back before he decides not to. She doesn’t question his detour to the courtyard and the turtleduck pond, only quietly assures him that the creatures are safe in their nest, which is enough for him to let her tug him towards his chambers. Suki only stops as the doors open, and Zuko is only coherent enough to not immediately fall into his bed and bid her goodnight. She squeezes his arm before letting go, returning the sentiment and walking off into the dark of the palace. 

The image tugs at something inside him, but Zuko is too tired to think about it further and flops into bed without so much as undoing his topknot. 

  
  


He doesn’t visit Azula for five years after that night. 


	2. year one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> zuko and ursa talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted this out by the end of june but fuck it i'll take 4 am on july first. also this mentions a character/some concepts from the comics but you don't have to understand them because i'm changing them all anyway.

It is a year later when he finds their mother. Zuko sits in the garden, days afterward, his head still spinning from the revelations of the week. His mother has been here all along, in the palace; disguised thanks to a spirit who changed her face so no one would recognize her. For years she has been Noriko, a kindly servant, and yet the whole time she had been Ursa, watching from afar as her children grew. Her  _ children _ \- that was another thing, his mother was married, his mother had another daughter. Kiyi. Zuko didn’t know what to make of her, except that she was a remarkably normal girl; so unlike him, so unlike Azula. There is something bright about her, something untouched by fear, or competition, or malice. It’s not something Zuko can name (is afraid to name) but can easily observe as she plays with his friends, screaming in delight as Aang airbends the two of them from treetop to treetop, the others chasing them on the ground, laughing. 

“May I join you?” 

He blinks against the sun, looking up at his mother waiting patiently for his answer. It’s still odd to look at Noriko and think ‘ _ mom _ ,’ but he knows what it is to look different, and won’t shun her company because her face is a little rounder, her mouth a little thinner. He nods. She smiles, sitting gracefully next to him, before remarking: 

“I’m surprised you haven’t joined their game.” 

Zuko freezes, his throat suddenly tight. He runs through excuses in his head, pushing away the simple truth that he just...  _ can’t _ . He doesn’t know how to. It’s another thing stolen and rotten from his childhood. Games are not innocent or joyful, they are -  _ Azula lighting the apple on Mai’s head on fire, Azula pushing him off the cliff at Ember Island, Azula telling Father that he broke her toys when she was the one who destroyed them  _ \- something else entirely. 

“I have a lot on my mind,” is the half truth he settles on. His mother hums far too knowingly and Zuko rapidly remembers that he has never been able to lie to her. 

“I understand. I’ve been thinking about her too.” There’s a familiar undercurrent of pain in Ursa’s voice, one that echoes through his chest, ribs panging and heart beating too fast. The grass is suddenly interesting. Zuko picks at it idly, unsure of what to say or how much she knows. Azula’s… attempt on his life is common knowledge, but he has kept word of her imprisonment, or lack thereof, as secret as he can. Despite the unease it leaves swirling in his stomach Zuko knows it’s for the best. If it was widely known half of the nation would clamor for her execution, and the other half would cry for her to take the throne. He’s not sure what half his mom falls under. He’s not sure what half he agrees with either. 

Even over a year after he stopped visiting his sister his head still swims when he tries to think of her. He still believes, wants to believe, in Azula and the chance she has for change - and yet he can’t escape the words Suki said that night. It stings to admit she was right, the remainder of his pride bruised by accepting that helping his sister is just another thing he can’t do, another failure to add to the pile. He thinks of Kiyi, glances up at her from beneath his bangs. She’s giggling, smiling, and something restless inside Zuko settles at the image of her happiness; he’s known her for a week and already he would do anything for her. Questions come bubbling up, shaking and nervous: does he feel the same for Azula? Does she? What would Azula do for him? 

His vision flashes; there is lightning and cruel laughter, heat and burning, and the question shifts, morphs and molds itself until he wonders, unbidden and betrayed: what has Azula done  _ to  _ him? 

“We could see the light of your flames from across the city.” 

Zuko whips around, startled by the sound of his mother’s voice. Her face is impassive, calm, but there’s a slope to her shoulders that reads as something else entirely. 

“They were… beautiful. And terrifying.” She continues, “knowing my children fought each other, that it had come to  _ this _ \- ” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” He’s interrupting, he knows, but Zuko needs her to know this. She smiles, an upward twist of her mouth that seems both ironic and  _ wrong  _ and rests her hand on his knee. He manages not to flinch. 

“I am your mother; it’s my job to protect you, to love and guide you.” Her face doesn’t crumple, or fall, but looks for a second like it wants to. Instead her features slide back into neutrality, her voice weighty and  _ sad _ . “I’ve known for years that I failed in all the ways I possibly could - you and your sister’s Agni Kai made me terrified that I would lose one of you before I had the chance to fix the damage my mistakes have made.”

Baffled, Zuko yells out: “That’s not true!” He doesn’t know how she can think that. In the fire of his childhood she was the one light that didn’t  _ burn _ . 

“Isn’t it?” Gentle in both voice and movement she raises her hand from his knee, reaching tentatively for his scar. This time he can’t stop the flinch, and both the instinct and the action leave him aching. Ursa graces him with another one of those barely-smiles as her arm drops to her lap once again. 

“I couldn’t protect either of you from Oazi, or guide you away from his menace before it was too late. I couldn’t even love Azula the way I should have, the way she needed me too. But these are my failures, Zuko, not yours, and I am  _ so sorry _ that they have hurt you.  _ Both  _ of you.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that - to the small waver of her admission, to the matching fragility of the breaths that can't quite fill his lungs - so he looks back at the grass. His fingers don’t shake when they’re tangled in the dirt. 

“It’s not your fault,” he repeats, whispery and unsure despite his best efforts. Zuko tries to focus on the rip and tear of the grass and not the silence that follows. He feels… dimmed; melted and hollowed by the conversation, like a candle left flickering overnight. The confusion he has felt for the past year ( _ for his whole life _ ) about Azula, about him  _ and  _ Azula, is the smoke making the whole thing hazy, making it hard to breathe right whenever it's brought up. And now his mother - He can't,  _ won't _ , blame her for any of this. No matter what she says, or how he flinches. He is intimately familiar with guilt and its weight, and he hates that his mother carries it when she has done nothing wrong; especially when she is perhaps the only member of his family he can say that about. Zuko knows he has done so many,  _ many _ things wrong, he knows Uncle has his own regrets, and he feels comfortable saying his father has done nothing  _ but _ wrong in his life. Which brings him back to Azula, the scar on his chest, and it’s twin on Aang’s back. 

He pulls at the grass until the ache fades, ponders telling her it all - the Agni Kai, the days afterward, his visits, their abrupt stop, the reports on her progress he’s received every month since that lay locked in a drawer, unopened - but the words won’t come. They stay stuck in his throat, his hands too covered in dirt to reach inwards and pull them free. There’s so much to say, so many years and thoughts and feelings stretched out between the two of them. He doesn’t know how to untangle it all; the years of bitterness and the hot, sharp anger he hasn’t felt in  _ so long _ , the terror and the terrifying hope, the undercurrent of love he can’t shake. It’s overwhelming, even now, when everything is a half-feeling, like a limb waking up. Zuko still wants to say something, to stop the silence and the thoughts filling it; he wants to stop the sparks coming back to life in his chest because he prefers the numbness to whatever the mass of emotions he has surrounding Azula is. But none of the words he has are good enough, and they all taste like lies on his tongue, so he stays quiet, plucks at the grass as if it makes it easier. 

“If you’d like to talk to her I can arrange for you to visit Azula.” Is eventually what he forces out, voice small, as if it too is afraid of the silence. 

“I appreciate the thought, Zuko.” His mother replies, and if she too can barely get above a whisper neither of them mention it. “But I’m not sure she’d like to see me, at least, not right now. I hope, eventually, but...” she slumps, just for a moment before she seems to shake out of it and turns to him with a weak smile. “Do you visit her?”

Zuko can’t smile back, instead he looks down at the pile of grass he’s built and starts in on a new patch, hesitantly voicing his answer.

“I did, but I stopped. About a year ago.” He grimaces, feeling the weight of the question he asks himself every day form in the air around them and hurries to answer it, the end of each word clipping the other like they can’t get out fast enough. “I was trying to help her, but one day I realized I couldn’t. Not the way I was trying to, anyway.”

“What do you mean, love?” 

“I wanted to show her that I didn’t blame her, that it wasn’t her fault. That, despite everything that has happened I still love her. I couldn’t.” The answer slips easily out of his mouth, without his permission, and Spirits does it  _ sting _ \- his voice and his hands quiver under the admission - but to pause a second more would be to focus on the soft, prodding tone of his Mother’s voice and he can’t do that either. 

Hands, gentle and familiar fill his sight, moving towards his until they brush his knuckles, bringing his fiddling to a slow stop. For a moment, all he can do is compare the pale, clean expanse of his mother’s hand to his own dirt smudged and stained pair; but then he looks up and meets her eyes to see that tiny, sad smile is still there. Her hands wrap around his, cradling them, and when she speaks her voice is as forgiving as her grip and her gaze.

“Zuko, there’s been barely a day in the past two decades I haven’t been in this palace - as a princess, as your mother, as a servant. To say I understand the cruelty my daughter is capable of doesn’t mean I  _ blame _ her for it or that I don’t  _ love  _ her; we are all capable of great cruelty when pushed into the right circumstances, by the right people, and we are all still responsible for our actions in spite of this.” 

"I know that. I know what Azula's done.”  _ I know what I’ve done too,  _ Zuko adds in his mind, because it wasn’t just Azula fighting. It’s not just Azula who’s done such awful, vile things - It was him  _ and _ her, the two of them, fighting each other and the world and themselves and anything else they could get their hands on. Raging and burning, two fireworks wreaking havoc on anything they could touch, not caring who they hurt, or who was subject to their horror. He thinks of his friends, of all the stupid, terrible ways he’s hurt them. He thinks of his sister, and all the people she’s hurt… and Zuko realizes something, something he admits with wide eyes and a hushed tone:

“I know what she’s done _ to me _ .” His heart starts beating faster, and he is helpless to stop the tidal wave of words that come next.

“Azula… hurt me. She tried to kill me, she tricked me and used me - and I’m not sure how I feel about it, about her. But I’m not angry with her, not really.” Zuko almost laughs when he says it, he’s so astounded by his own lack of burning, bright  _ rage _ . His feelings for Azula have never been cut and dry, never simple or clean or  _ easy _ , but this he can admit freely. “...not anymore. I was, for a long time. I was angry at  _ everything _ for a long time. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to be  _ afraid _ either. I want to help her, _ I still do _ , but I don’t know how to. I want to forgive her, it’s what she deserves - but I don’t know if I  _ can _ .” His voice cracks on the last word and he stops as fast as he started, mouth snapping shut. His mother squeezes his hands, as if in reassurance.

"It's not about what she  _ deserves _ , it's about what you  _ need _ . If you find it will bring you peace to forgive her, then I will be forever overjoyed; and if you find forgiveness to be impossible I will not love either of you any less." She says it all so evenly, without rush or pause or hesitation that for a second Zuko feels so unbelievably, devastatingly seen that he wants to look away, terrified of what it all means - but he doesn’t. He just nods, and tries to understand. 

It seems to be enough. His Mother’s smile grows into a bright, wonderfully full thing; and she pulls him forwards until it is not her hands around his but her arms around the whole of him, embracing him fully. Zuko doesn’t have it in him to fight it. He collapses into her, feeling his heart finally slow at the familiar warmth, the  _ comfor _ t of being in his mother’s arms - of knowing they will always be there. She murmurs to him in a way that reminds him of Uncle; a hand in his hair and soft assurances of love in his ear relaxing him further, making him melt into her until, for just a moment, the smell of her hair and the cloth of her shoulder is all the world is. 

“Zuko!” The shrill voice startles him out of his stupor, the world coming rushing back; but before the panic can set in his mother squeezes him, a laugh rumbling in her chest as she pulls away to reveal Kiyi standing before them, bouncing excitedly on her toes. Aang and the others are nowhere in sight, and Zuko realizes he hadn’t noticed their game stopping. 

“Zuko, will you have a tea party with us? We can’t have one without you!” She gestures wildly over to his friends, answering his unsaid question, standing under one of the overhangs, talking amongst themselves as they wait for them. When he looks back Kiyi is smiling - the expression is so wide it pulls at her cheeks, open and full and happy and _ free _ . Zuko tries to give her one of his own; it’s nothing more than a simple upturn of his lips, but Kiyi breaks into giggles nonetheless, knowing she’s won. He keeps smiling as he stands up, as his littlest sister barrels into him, uncaring of his formal robes or his dirty hands, and when he says:

“I wouldn’t miss it, Kiyi.” he means it.

Their mother’s smile follows the siblings until the door the palace closes behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if the ending feels rushed, i'm still not happy with it but i rewrote the back half of this chapter no less than three times (which unfortunately included cutting the line about the gaang cuddling... tragic) and ended up saying fuck it because i was fiddling with it too much and i'm tired. i might go back and edit it some other time but right now i just wanna get this up. since i'm not really sure on this one i would love some feedback on it if y'all feel so inclined....

**Author's Note:**

> zuko and azula have a complicated, messy relationship and i've seen one too many azula redemption fics ignore or gloss over how abusive her dynamic with zuko is, and how it played it a role in their trauma in order to make them dorky siblings. which is, at least for now, not plausible. somehow rambling about this with my friend turned into a sort of 5+1 about zuko coming to terms with it all despite having not really written in fucking years. idk either dude the atla renaissance is doing things to me.  
> title and general vibe is from runs in the family by amanda palmer.  
> also just to clarify: azula being redemed and having another chance at life is the goal of this fic, it's just a long, complicated process for everyone involved.


End file.
